There was something odd in the way the air felt when Erin Ward stepped off the tram. The platform carried a faint whiff of burning metal, the kind that lingered after a maintenance drone passed through. Beneath it, a low vibration pressed against her skin, subtle enough to dismiss yet persistent enough to notice.

She paused and scanned the horizon beyond the station’s glass barriers. Cargo towers, shuttle gantries, the distant rise of the orbital lift pylons; everything sat exactly where it belonged. Nothing moved that shouldn’t. Nothing explained the sensation.

Erin adjusted the strap of her satchel and continued into the station proper, boots clicking against the composite flooring.

The ride out from the central hub had been a blur of districts and elevated rails, cityscapes flashing by in quick succession. Now, with the tram behind her and the spaceport ahead, the real work waited on Ganymede, and she felt the familiar weight of a case beginning to form before she even knew its shape.

The station concourse opened before her in a wide sweep of glass and composite arches. Morning traffic moved in steady currents, travelers pulling cases, technicians in orange vests guiding service drones, and a few uniformed officers posted near the security gates. Erin let her gaze drift without appearing to search, a habit formed from years of fieldwork.